Papa, Tell Me a Story
by mum-to-you
Summary: Why, oh why, does Arthur not have not have his own category? At any rate, Arthur Weasley spends a rainy afternoon with his granddaughter. Yeah, it's fluffy. So sue me.


Emma set her teacup on the table with a nervous clatter. Lightning flashed in the sitting room window, and thunder rattled the rafters. Emma scrunched up her face and shivered.

From his armchair by the fireside where he was reading _The Daily Prophet, _Arthur Weasley peered over his glasses at his oldest granddaughter with an affectionate smile. "Chilly?" he asked, so not to embarrass her, "You're sure you won't go upstairs with Tessa and Olivia and have a little rest? It's much warmer up there."

Emma's eyes widened with indignation, and she looked at him with reproach over her own glasses. "Papa," she said gravely, "I'm far too old for naps now."

His mouth twitched at the corners in an effort not to chuckle. "Ah yes," he put in as if suddenly remembering, "Six would be the cut-off, wouldn't it? Silly of me to forget."

The thunder crashed over their heads, and even the magically-powered lights at The Burrow flickered for a moment. Emma jumped and let out a frightened squeal. Arthur saw her struggling so hard to be brave and asked nonchalantly, "It's been ages since we had a good Papa-Emma chat, hasn't it? Why don't you bring that plate of ginger biscuits over here and sit with me?"

Emma picked up the china plate and carefully walked over to her grandfather. She didn't need to be reminded to use both hands. He took the plate from her and set it on the side table, then picked her up and placed her on his lap. The lightning crackled in the window with a loud crash, and she buried her face in his robes. He slipped an arm around her slender shoulders and held her close.

It was good to have the three girls for a few days, he thought. Percy had taken Penny on a short holiday to the seaside and had left the girls with their grandparents. Penny was expecting twins soon, and it would be their last chance for any sort of time alone for a long time. Arthur found the whole thing very amusing.

At six, Emma really wasn't a baby anymore, and she was beginning to shoot up as her father had done at that age. Arthur could remember moments like this with Percy in his lap, all sharp angles and spindly limbs. If he closed his eyes, he couldn't really tell much difference.

After getting her settled in, he picked up the plate of biscuits and offered her one. She took a biscuit and began to nibble it. "Extra good biscuits your nan baked today, I think," Arthur commented.

Emma nodded and said, "I got to help her."

"Well, that explains why they're so much better than usual," he said with a smirk, "Best not mention that to her, though."

Emma's cheeks turned very pink under his praise, and he thought with a grin that it showed she was a true Weasley, if there were ever any doubt. They finished their biscuits in companionable silence, and Arthur noticed with wry amusement that the fastidious little girl had dropped not one crumb on his robes. "This child," he thought, "is so much like her father." Like Percy, she was serious, quiet, and very intelligent. Arthur highly suspected she heard and observed things that most children didn't, another trait she and Percy shared. Also like him, she took absolutely everything literally.

On the outside though, he considered, she didn't look much like a Weasley, not that he really cared a fig about that. It was just a little odd to have a child without red hair running around the house! No, little Emma had her mother's brown hair and elfin features, with just a smattering of tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose to attest to her Weasley heritage. Well, that and the fact that she was so uncannily like Percy.

Emma placed both of her tiny hands on Arthur's cheeks, looked at him intently, and asked, "Papa, tell me a story."

"A story for my best girl, next to Nan, of course? What kind of story, Poppet?"

"Tell me a story about when Daddy was a little boy, one I haven't heard before."

"Hmm," he murmured, "I've told you about how tiny and sick he was when he was born, haven't I?"

Emma nodded and added, "Because he came too early. He was so tiny you could almost hold him with one hand. Nan calls him her 'miracle.'"

Arthur nodded, "He was that. Okay, so you know that one. What about the time he took off his nappy and ran out into the back garden totally starkers?"

Emma covered her mouth to stifle her laughter, and her cheeks and ears turned bright pink. "And a garden gnome bit him on his bum, right?" she giggled.

"Ah, I see you've heard that one, too." He looked at her and said with mock severity, "You shouldn't laugh, you know. It was probably very painful." Then they both dissolved into laughter.

"Well, how about the time your Uncle Fred and Uncle George bewitched his toy broom to fly upside down whenever he sat on it?"

"Yes," said Emma severely, "and it wasn't one bit funny. He could have been badly hurt."

Arthur managed to squash the laughter in his throat before it could escape and added, "I think your father said something much to that effect at the time, too." Emma, however, could tell he thought it was a rather amusing memory. His cheeks turned pink under her disapproving glare.

After a moment, she looked at him seriously, and her chin quivered as she spoke, "Papa, tell me what Daddy did that was so terrible."

Arthur drew in a quick breath and exhaled slowly before answering. "What do you mean, Poppet?"

"He did something terrible, didn't he? He doesn't ever talk about it except to Mummy and you and Nan and Uncle Bill."

Arthur sat for the longest time, wondering what to say. Emma just kept looking at him with an air of dogged determination. Finally, he sighed and said, "Emma, love, I can't answer your question. Some things are just not for little girls to know about. Besides, it's not my story to tell. And it wasn't 'terrible,' as much as sad and scary. Maybe when you're much older, your dad will sit down with you and talk about it. I rather suspect he will.

"I will say this, though. Everyone makes mistakes. I have, Nan has, your father has. You have and will again. The good people learn from their mistakes and make things right."

"Is Daddy one of the good people, Papa?" she asked.

"You know he is, Poppet."

Emma nodded, reassured, then put her head against Arthur's chest and yawned.

Arthur ruffled her hair and tried again. "Have I ever told you about how scared of the dark your father was at your age?"

Emma's eyes grew very round. She couldn't imagine her daddy being afraid of anything. She smothered another yawn and shook her head solemnly.

"It's true. He would wake up nights, screaming, out of his mind with terror. Your nan would always wake up first and go to him, but no, for some reason, he always wanted me. I would sit on his bed and hold him, much like I'm holding you now, and he would eventually calm down and go back to sleep."

Arthur thought back reflectively on the story he couldn't tell Emma, not now anyway, and what he'd had to do to get his son back, and he said aloud, more to himself than to her, "Whenever he was afraid . . . of the dark . . . that was always when he needed me most of all."

They both got very quiet, listening to the rain, which was falling steadily now. The violence of the storm seemed to have passed, and soon Arthur felt little Emma's body go soft against his. He smiled down at the sleeping little girl and was once again astounded at the miracle of grandchildren. So very like the children who were thoughtful enough to provide them, but so unique and special in their own right. "Bloody amazing," he thought. He settled back in his chair to watch over this precious little bundle, just in case the storm rose up again to frighten her.

Molly came into the sitting room a few minutes later to collect the tea things. For a moment, she just watched the two of them, snuggled up and asleep. She took off their glasses and set them side by side on the table, tucked a hand-knitted rug around them, and kissed them both on the forehead. Then she dimmed the lights and shut the door behind her with a smile.


End file.
